


One for good luck, one for good fuck

by theclouddetective



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blackouts, Hangover, Lucky Cigarettes, Mild Smut, Other, Sleepy Sex, lmao the bean pole can't control himself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 03:59:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theclouddetective/pseuds/theclouddetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When 2D wakes up after a blackout, he finds himself in an awkward position.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Whoops.

**Author's Note:**

> chapter one edited slightly

2D awoke in the dark, head pounding and recovering from a drinking binge, unsure of where he was, a heavy weight pressed against his chest as he struggled to fill his lungs. Hot breathing fluttered over his neck, lips brushing at the sensitive skin, and though he couldn’t quite recall who was on top of him, it was oddly comfortable, a tantalizing warmth seeping into his chest. He furrowed his eyes closed, pressing into the heat and feeling gentle breathing, sighing softly as the figure shifted, weight rolling over his hips with a pleasant pressure. He bit his lip, lying still under the body, only half conscious as he became gradually lost in the feeling, hazy arousal settling over him. Too tired to fight it, he dimly felt himself beginning to stiffen, letting a quiet moan slip from his teeth, his arms reaching out and curl over the figure. He toyed with their shirt, wondering who he’d brought home this time and why they were still clothed. The body let out a quiet hum, and he twitched, the sound of their voice eerily familiar. They moved again, the front of their pants sliding over his, and he opened his eyes, determined to remember a portion of the last night before doing anything rash. He dimly remembered going out for for drinks with you- that was nothing out of the ordinary, you were good friends, and lounging about in dirty bars together was something you did quite often- and struggled to put the pieces together. You’d been dicking around the bar with him, taking shot after shot, and the last thing he could look back on with any sort of clarity was his arm slung drunkenly around your waist, you sitting on his lap, right there in the bar- a flushed smile on your face as you teasingly brought another shot up to his mouth, eyebrows raised in a silent dare. The figure mumbled something quietly, sighing, and chills went up his spine as he recognized your voice, cheeks flushing darkly. You must have got home somehow, fallen asleep with him on the couch, he realized, and considering you were both still dressed, he doubted anything had happened, leaving him in a rather awkward position. Memories surged through him like a river- he was pretty sure he'd kissed you, outside of the bar, a pack of cigarettes at his feet. And again, in the cab- and in the bar too, now that he thought of it. He groaned, suddenly mortified by the sheer number of times he'd pulled you close, dizzy and drunk and grinning like an idiot. Of course you weren't exactly fighting back, but you were as drunk as he was. 

“Shit,” he breathed to himself, only growing more aroused as he realized his position, remembering the smile you’d given him and the comfort of you sitting on his lap, the taste of you on his tongue- by now he was wiggling his hips awkwardly, desperately hoping you didn’t wake up. “Shiiiiit,” he repeated, stifling his mouth as he realized you were nestling into him, hips pressed firmly together. He bit his lip, closing his eyes and willing himself to fall back asleep. This would go, he reminded himself, and the sooner he lost the ability to think about it, the sooner he could pretend he hadn’t been so worked up by the feeling of you on top of him. He steadied his breathing, face hot, and quietly pretended to be asleep, replaying snippets of music in his head and hoping it would lull him back into a safe darkness. You yawned, and his breathing caught, then hastily returned to a deep, slow rhythm. He felt you stretch above him, panicked as you made a small noise of confusion, hands fumbling across his chest questioningly, brushing over his neck, cupping his jaw, curling into his hair as if to test the length. You were trying to identify him, he realized, cool hands feeling at hot lips and gently lifting them up. You ran your thumb hesitantly against his top teeth, pausing as you reached the gap where his fronts should have been. You shivered, and he fought the urge to buck upwards, mortified. He felt you lean in, breath skimming over his neck and hands wandering shyly to his waist.  
“Stuart?” You whispered, incredulous and slightly hoarse.  
“Oh fuck,” his brain replied, wondering desperately how he was going to get out of this one.


	2. Flashback

It had, all things considered, been a normal night out with 2D. Drinks and laughs were regular ways for you to spend time, and with every outing you seemed to know each other better. Recently you’d been getting a little more than friendly, and the flirting was new and awkward. Unsure, neither of you had acknowledged it yet, but lingering smiles encouraged you to press on. That night had been relatively relaxed. It only started when you bought the sixth or seventh round, and you both were already well on your way to being shit faced when you had leaned into him, cackling over some stupid joke about zombies, your shoulders bumping together. He had bumped you back, you tilted closer to shove at him playfully, and the next thing you knew, he had pulled you into his lap. You were flushed, squirming happily. He was drunk, you knew- he was often affectionate when he was, but not drunk enough for your taste. You wanted him half-lidded and hazy eyed, sweet and lazy and prone to wandering hands and drifting conversations. And you wanted to be there with him. You reached back as his arms looped around your waist, pulling two shots into your hands and downing one, raising the other to his mouth. And he took it. And another, and another, until you were both giggling messes, trying to tip another towards his mouth as he laughed, shaking his head. 

“Why not?” You pouted, knocking it back before replacing it on the table, swaying slightly as you turned to face him again. He smiled, one long finger reaching out and tapping you gently on the nose.   
“Don’ want to do anything stupid,” he shrugged. “Don’ think I’ll be able to hold myself back if I have any more. You either,” he curled his arms around your waist. “You’re plastered.”  
“Am not,” you huffed, pawing at his chest. “And what’s so bad that you’re worried about getting a little drunk, huh?”  
“Well,” he mused, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to yours, silly grin stuck to his face and eyes slipping closed. “Can’t tell you that, can I?” 

“Aw, why not?” you pouted.  
“S’ embarrassing!” he protested, pulling a face.   
“So? I’m not gonna judge you for it.” You were concentrating on not slurring your words, and missed the deliberating expression on the man’s face.  
“What if you would though?” he breathed, hands squeezing at your waist.  
“I wouldn’t.”  
“Promise?” he asked, voice suddenly high and teasing. You screwed up your face, confused, but nodded resolutely.   
“I promise.” He chuckled breathily, shifting to rest his jaw on your shoulder, mouth twisting to point towards your ear.  
“If I had any more, especially with you on my lap like this- well, I’d have to do something about you,” he whispered, nervousness dulled by alcohol. You swallowed roughly, not having expected that.  
“Me?” you pulled a face. “What did I do?”  
“You’re such a tease,” he hummed, hands shifting across your lower back. “I’ve wanted to do something about it for a long-” he hiccuped, “long time now.”   
“Y-yeah?” you sputtered, unable to think of a better response.   
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Always making me want you. S’just rude.” You licked your lips, inhaling sharply.   
“And uh, what would you do about it?” You whispered, face reddening madly.

2D tilted his head, slow smirk worming across his face.   
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You frowned, leaning back and grasping at the last shot. You held it up to him deliberately, trying to look resolute despite the flush.  
“Yeah, I would,” you replied, and he took the small glass, turning it between his pale fingers, examining the warm golden alcohol through the light. You gently pushed it towards his mouth with a pleading pout, and he knocked it back, barely pausing to wipe a stray drop of whiskey from his lip before he was leaning in, hot breath on your face and his spare hand gripping at the back of your head. You inhaled shakily, and he seemed to look you over for a moment before his wide, dark eyes fluttered shut, and he pressed his lips to yours.

You pressed into the kiss, hands scrabbling to grab at his shoulders, tilting dizzily. And then he was pulling away, and you made a quiet noise of disappointment in the back of your throat, until his arms were tugging you up, standing unsteadily, pressed flush against you. He looked down, digging through his pockets before tossing some money at the table, tugging you suggestively towards the exit. You followed, breathing deeply as you slid into the blue darkness, suddenly wrapped in a still, quiet atmosphere. You barely had time to open your mouth, trying to say something, before you were shoved gently against the brick of the bar’s wall, pale hands clamping down on either side of your head. You looked up, dazed. 

The two of you stood there for a moment, breathing and looking, heads reeling, before you reached slowly for his jacket pocket, pulling out a near-empty pack of cigarettes. He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and you folded the cardboard container back, fingers drifting over the last two fags in the pack. You looked down, surprised to feel the rough tip of the cigarette as opposed to the filter, and hands were tugging the carton out of yours, drawing out the last two and placing one between your lips.   
“They were upside down,” you noted, slightly breathless as he fumbled for a lighter.  
“Yeah, they’re luckies,” he mentioned, sparking the lighter with his thumb.  
“Luckies?” you pressed, leaning forward as he brought the small flame to the tip of your cigarette.   
“Mm,” he hummed, lighting his own, the carton dropping to the pavement, forgotten. “Lot of smokers flip their fags when they get a new pack, leave ‘em for last. Usually people do one or three but ah, I prefer flipping two.”  
“Why two?” you exhaled a cloud of smoke, eyes sliding over his face.  
“Well, one for good luck,” he paused, taking out yours and dropping it playfully to the ground, ignoring your protests. “And one for good fuck.”   
He smirked, and you stared dumbly at the still lit cigarette on the pavement before withdrawing his, arms wrapping feverishly around his neck as you sank into another kiss, his lips tugged into a noticeable smile as he clutched your waist, mouth tilting to press more firmly into yours.


End file.
